


Customary

by VictoryRoad



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Just a good ol' fashioned exploratory thank you from your local visiting alien, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8538235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoryRoad/pseuds/VictoryRoad
Summary: Winn shows Mon-El his quarters. Mon-El thanks him in a way that - while perhaps not traditionally Daxamian - still surprises Winn plenty.





	

“It isn’t much, unfortunately.” Winn can see the disappointment in Mon-El’s eyes. What must life have been like for him on Daxam? Far more luxurious, at least that much is certain. Guarding a prince doesn’t often mean spending your days in tiny, cramped rooms waiting for something – anything – to happen. Or would it? The more the thought passed through Winn’s mind, the more he realised how little he could even begin to assume about Mon’s origin.

“I’ve seen worse, but this...” It’s the puppy-dog look on his face that breaks Winn’s heart. It is never the military-style cot, or the tiny window, or the steel mesh that makes the rooms beneath the DEO look like cells. No, it is always the reaction – and something about seeing Mon-El looking hurt by it stings harder than anything. “This is a prison,” he continues bluntly, “But I guess it’s better than the last cell.”

“I’m sorry,” Winn begins, “It’s all we have, and you don’t really have any supervision or anything, so, this is kind of all we can offer.” It is a half life – the DEO can offer more, it is simply that no one is willing to. Even Hank, warming to Mon-El as he is, was still reluctant to break protocol. We must assess if there is danger. Nothing about him looked dangerous to Winn. Not the cut of his jaw, or the way his abs looked as his shirt rose above his – “Oh. Oh.”

“Is something wrong?” Mon asks, confused. Where should he begin? The man before him, this royal guard of Daxam, was in the process of undressing with little care for the fact that Winn was still in the room. Normally this would not be so strange – it had been a long day, and he was probably eager to get changed. Yet there was a certain cavalierness to it, the way that Mon’s shirt had already fallen onto the cot, the way the jeans that Winn had found him hung loose around his waist. The button sagged below a ridge covered in striped fabric, a thick and welcoming line that must be his –

“No, no, nooo. Sorry. No.” Winn’s back is turned to him before he even realises, trying to block the sight. He shouldn’t stare – I mean, that was definitely the shape of his cock. Did he see him staring? Was that even staring? Of course it was, his eyes were laser-locked onto it.

“What’s flustering you?” Mon asks, and Winn doesn’t really have an answer. He can begin to explain, but – no, that’d be too much.

“I uh, just wasn’t expecting you to get changed now. Before I left.”

“I’m not changing.” What? Winn turns confused, and turns back again before his eyes can catch too much of Mon’s naked body. Even the passing glimpse made it clear he had already stripped down entirely.

“See, uh, here? We only tend to take our clothes off for getting changed, or maybe going to sleep, or I guess sex, but not really just because we feel like it. I mean, that’s kind of weird –“

“What is sex?” Mon-El asks, and Winn’s brain explodes at the sound of it. Before the sentence has properly processed, he’s stammering and confused and – “OK, OK, kidding. Daxam’s customs might have been different, but I’m not an idiot.”

“Oh, oh. OK then. Right.” The sigh of relief is much louder than Winn intended. “This – uh – this is a custom, is it? On Daxam. Just... getting naked.”

“Mostly for sex, but yes.” Winn’s face flushes brighter red than he ever expected it to possibly manage. “Is this too forward? I spent so many years with the prince, and this may have become overly routine for me. We would perform a kindness for the other, and reward it with some form of release. Is that not a thing here?”

“Only creepy dudes really expect it as a reward.” Winn’s not looking away now. Instead, he’s fixated on Mon-El, on his body, first on the calm and encouraging look in his eyes – a far cry from the cockiness he normally sees. He does not linger long on his eyes though – his vision trails down very quickly, across toned and sculpted abs and through to the bulge he had seen before. Prominent, thick, much longer than Winn’s own. All sorts of speciesist assumptions about averages raced through his mind. “I uh – I’ve never, I mean, I don’t – I didn’t think you were gay.”

“Oh,” Mon-El replies, surprised. “I’m guessing that’s – hm. We don’t really have that on Daxam, or even Krypton. We did, but eventually... I suppose we evolved. For sheer category, Bisexuality is technically the term. Limited by preference but that’s ultimately negligible. Kara can tell you all about it too.” What must Mon-El think of the look on his face? Winn’s eyes are too locked on Mon’s thickness to check his reflection. “If you want, that reward still stands. You show me my quarters, I show you what you’re missing.”

Maybe it’s the stuffy air beneath the DEO, maybe it’s the absurdity of everything, but Winn finds himself collapsing slightly. Not totally – not in a heap – but the ground catches up with his knees very quickly. What is he doing? Kneeling before a naked Daxamite, who just so happen to be propositioning him – and getting closer. Every part of him feels anxious and terrified, but there’s a second wave of feeling behind it – something else, something closer to the feeling he gets helping Kara or Hank. Eagerness. Willingness.

Winn takes it in his hand first, palm running slack but firm against the shaft. That thickness was not an optical illusion – in the pit of his stomach, that nervousness grows a little. Slow, quick successive pumps follow – one, two, three. One, two, three. Feeling it grow and shift beneath his grip is unexpected, but incredible. He’s doing that – it’s all because of him. Mon-El wants him. It doesn’t take long before the hard cock in his hand is beckoning at mouth-level, tip-first. Perky and a deep purple-red, a slightly-retraced uncircumcised hood (unlike his own, pressing hard now against his jeans), and thick, bulging veins down the shaft of it that give the silhouette an eerie distortion.

“Go on,” Mon-El encourages, and Winn takes it into his mouth. It tastes of a day’s labour, a little unpleasant at first, but as his mouth works down the tip and his tongue meets the shaft, that changes. He is not thinking about taste, only of the thick cock pushing its way against the tight, open-wide-as-they-can-be corners of his mouth. Every porno he ever watched comes racing to mind, his body almost instinctively turning to slow and steady back-and-forth pumps of the shaft. Winn nearly jumps at the sound of Mon-El moaning.

Slow-and-steady, but more exploratory with each minute that passes. His tongue begins to move, feeling around the thick and bulging shaft of his cock. Each dart and shift seems to call forth some new, different moan from the man whose hands have found their way to the back of Winn’s head. First the tongue explores, then the shaft gets deeper. His slow and steady rhythm becomes a faster and faster pump, the tip of Mon’s cock find its way closer and closer to the back of Winn’s throat with each movement.

“Fuck,” He moans, those hands now moving in time with Winn’s head. The pair are in tandem, the force of Mon-El’s grip pushing him deep onto his cock slightly overriding the natural pace of his sucking. Deeper and deeper, each battering of Mon’s head against the unprepared deep recesses of his throat making him a little more light-headed each time. The rhythm is its own beast now – strong and recurrent, forceful and alive. He is good at this. This is what makes Mon-El happy. This is what keeps them close.

“I’m gonna –“ A soft whimper combines with a half-pop as Mon pulls backwards from Winn. His mind races – I need it back, back in my mouth, I want to – that train of thought collapses under the thick, white spurts of cum that fly directly into Winn’s face. Ropes hang across his eyes and lips as Mon-El moans-out the last shots of cum onto his skin. He can hardly see through it, but he knows Mon is jerking himself off now, milking those last few drops onto him. Winn lets himself fall back onto his ass, resting now. It even surprises him for a moment how long it takes for his breathing to regulate. They instead sit in silence, the mess setting slightly as Winn’s tongue explores for the much more preferable, much more pleasant salty flavour.

“Do you, uh – need anything?” Mon-El offers him a towel. Winn accepts it, wiping his face clean.

“That should be all,” He replies, breathily, “Sir.”


End file.
